Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
No, no, don’t think that way. Anything more than temporary desire is weakness.
Amon stood up, dancing around with his head lowered, jabbing at the air as the final credits began to roll. “That was awesome!” he declared.
Sam gave a half-hearted nod. He couldn’t really remember much of what they’d watched. He’d been thinking of her. Picturing her. Wondering about her.
The door opened, and the nurse named Delia entered. “Sam, Dr. Heathrow would like to see you.”
A hollow feeling began in the spot right beneath his ribs. He’d been expecting this, and now he’d have to explain. Lie.
He wasn’t good at lying.
He’d promised never to lie to Dr. Heathrow. And he knew Dr. Heathrow would never lie to him.
Amon was slamming his fists into the punching bag that hung in the corner now, so without a goodbye, Sam followed Delia out of the room, walking down the familiar hall toward Dr. Heathrow’s office.
“Come in,” the doctor called when Sam rapped.
His office was tidy and clean, just like the doctor, who always smelled of soap and disinfectant. He was short and trim, and when the doctor was standing, Sam towered over him. They all did, even the few girls in the program.
Sam sat down in the chair in front of his desk. Dr. Heathrow laced his hands, studying him. Sam didn’t like it, but he didn’t look away.
“What happened last night, Sam?”
Sam resisted the urge to run his clammy palms over his thighs. That would be a giveaway that he was nervous.
“You attacked Fenris. His nose is broken. He said you went after him instead of the girl.”
“I wanted her for myself,” he said. True. But not all the way true.
Dr. Heathrow studied him a moment longer, unlacing his fingers and sitting back in his chair. “Why that one?”
“She’s stronger than the others. A challenge.” Again, true.
The corner of Dr. Heathrow’s lip tilted. “Ah. A challenge. Hmm.” He paused. “When you say she’s strong, what do you mean?”
Sam twitched very subtly, but Dr. Heathrow’s eyes narrowed. He’d caught it. Breathe. Slowly. Lower your pulse rate. Boom. Boom…boom…boom. His heart slowed as he commanded it to. “She has more fight than the others. Maybe she’s not as sick.”
Dr. Heathrow tilted his head. “Maybe. Some of them…have more time.” He appeared thoughtful. “I’ll inquire,” he murmured, and a buzz of alarm made Sam’s heart fall back into the quickened rhythm of moments before. But what else could he have done other than answer Dr. Heathrow’s questions?
“Am I in trouble?” he asked.
“No, no, of course not. Like I’ve told you and the others, do as you please in the woods. There’s no one to see you, no rules to abide by. If you desire a specific girl, then have her. Just…don’t drag it out. That’s not wise.”
“Or merciful.”
The doctor’s expression changed minutely, and Sam got the impression he was annoyed. “No, it’s not.” Dr. Heathrow looked at him for a beat and then stood, coming around his desk and taking the seat next to Sam. He turned toward him. “Your sense of integrity is noble.” But the way he said the word noble made Sam think he meant something else.
He cares for you. He’s the only one who does.
He patted Sam’s knee lightly with his fist. “Just don’t let it get the best of you,” Dr. Heathrow said. “Don’t let it make you second-guess your mission.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said as he stood.
“Sam.”
He had started to turn but now stopped.
“It’s time to do the next surgery.”
Despair made him jolt. “No. You said—”
“I know what I said, but I’ve changed my mind. I consulted with Dr. Swift and…it’s for the best. I’ve considered your age and your current vital stats. Your youth and other physical requirements are optimal now, and I don’t want to risk that changing.”
He was shocked by the unfamiliar desire to cry. He hadn’t experienced that sensation of weakness for a long time. Years. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt tears on his face, regardless of what he’d endured.
Tears were useless anyway. He’d only be punished for them.
Still. One plea. Just one. Maybe it was Dr. Swift, the program head he only knew by name, that was pushing for another surgery. Maybe Dr. Heathrow could be convinced. Sam fell to his knees. “Please, please, I—”
“There will be no discussion.” Still, Dr. Heathrow nudged Sam’s head so that it lay on his lap. He stroked Sam’s hair the way a father would, his voice softening. “You’re sixteen now, young, but old enough to understand that my decisions always have your best interests at heart, right? You’re like a son to me, Sam. My own child. I don’t take my decisions regarding your health lightly. Never.”
Sam’s heart had slowed. It’d slowed so much, Sam wondered if it would stop beating altogether. Almost hoped. He closed his eyes. He both hated Dr. Heathrow’s hand on his head and craved it. Touch. Comfort and pain.